


7 Ways to Cook a Human

by Mayalaen



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation, Mind Games, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 12:05:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17849141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayalaen/pseuds/Mayalaen
Summary: Mind games. Intellectual foreplay. A little teasing. There's more than one way to cook a human, and neither of them is willing to give in first.





	1. Coddling

**Author's Note:**

> After not writing for about a year (besides one fic for the silliness that is CH), I decided it was time, and I set myself a goal of writing at least once a day (okay so it turned into once a week), even if it’s only a little. This fic is the first thing that came out of me in a kind of stream-of-consciousness thing that I’m not used to doing, but I just went with it.
> 
> I think it'll turn out to be a 6+1-type of fic, but I have no idea what the characters will decide to do. I know I've got my 7 ways :)

> **coddled; coddling\ ˈkäd-liŋ, ˈkä-dᵊl-iŋ \**  
>  _transitive verb_  
>  to heat food in water kept just below the boiling point

It wasn’t often that one had the pleasure of watching someone unravel so slowly and so beautifully. A poke here, a prod there. Never pushing too much, but always keeping him just this side of the boiling point.

“Don’t.” Soft. A murmur. Almost an afterthought. A blue gaze of daggers aimed at Hannibal from under a fringe of messy hair.

A barely-there smile. Something no one else would notice, but of course Will noticed. He always did. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” A lie.

“Just don’t.” He didn’t bother glaring at Hannibal this time. Too overwhelmed by the number of people in the restaurant to focus on any one thing for a length of time, even if that thing was Hannibal. “We’re not here on a grocery shopping trip.”

Hannibal moved his knife a fraction of a centimeter to his left and tried to catch Will’s eye, ducking his head just a bit. “Are you not hungry?”

Will sighed. “I am.” He moved his own knife three inches away from the plate. A petty thing to do, but satisfying all the same when Hannibal shifted ever so slightly in irritation. “What did you order me?”

“Peeping mushrooms,” Hannibal said without even a hint of amusement.

“What?” Will asked, looking Hannibal in the eye. A tiny twitch of Hannibal’s upper lip had Will shaking his head. “Clever.”

A slight nod in Will’s direction before the server poured a small amount of wine into Hannibal’s glass, allowing him to taste and approve of it before filling their glasses.

“He’s too old,” Will said, turning his wine glass and watching as the motion bunched up the tablecloth.

A shift in the mood at the table that was palpable even though Hannibal didn’t move a muscle. The waiter came, presenting the plates and setting each one before them in turn.

Will’s eyes were on the peeping mushrooms, sprouting up from the middle of the penne noodles. The sauce was heavy and smelled delicious. “The granddaughter would be much more tender.”

“Will that be all, sir?” the water asked.

“Uh, uhm yes,” Hannibal said, the last word bitten off in irritation at his own vulnerability. His composure lost for just a moment before he gathered it again.

Will ignored him in favor of picking up a mushroom and examining it closely.

“Is your silverware dirty?” Hannibal asked, picking up his knife and fork. Passive aggressive censure.

“No,” Will said, turning the mushroom this way and that before popping it into his mouth and smiling at Hannibal. “Peeping mushrooms look like a finger food.”

Hannibal took a cleansing breath as he cut his meat. Maybe he was a little more vicious with it than he normally would be.

Will picked up his spoon, noting Hannibal’s shoulders dropping a tiny bit in relief. Will was just getting started for the night, and he needed to tread carefully. He needed to keep Hannibal just below the boiling point.


	2. Blanching

> **blanch - blanching \ ˈblanch-iŋ \**  
>  _transitive verb_  
>  to partially cook and immediately submerge in ice cold water to stop the cooking process

Hannibal’s pupils were blown, and it was the most satisfying thing Will had ever seen. Sitting at the head of his own dinner table, Jack having excused himself to use the restroom, Hannibal looked like a king on his throne. And as Will ran the dull edge of the knife over his own neck, looking Hannibal in the eye, he held his breath, listening to the sweet sound of Hannibal trying desperately to control his own breathing.

He pushed harder, leaving behind first a white, then a red line. He wasn’t cutting his skin, but toying with the illusion of it all. Teasing. Dousing Hannibal when all the man had been ready for was a nice dinner for the three of them.

Will dragged the knife tip down over his shirt collar and down over the seam of his button down. Hannibal’s eyes were glued to the action, right hand frozen over his own knife. He’d been ready to carve the meat for their guest when Jack had excused himself, but Will doubted Hannibal remembered that anymore.

Hannibal’s tongue poked out just a bit and ran over his lower lip. Just a peek of pink before Hannibal caught himself and cleared his throat.

But Will was just getting started. Never once breaking eye contact, even though it was difficult, he flicked the sharp blade under the first button on his shirt, catching it just right and sending the button sailing across the room.

Hannibal swallowed audibly, eyes darting up to look Will in the eye before dropping back down to the knife as if mesmerized by it. Enchanted.

Will licked his own lips before slipping the knife under his shirt, out of Hannibal’s sight, and hissed in a quick breath as the cold metal touched his bare skin.

Hannibal’s right hand came to rest on the knife he’d been ready to use on the meat, and his fingers caressed it. Itching to use it on Will. Craving the physical sensation to go along with the visual feast for his eyes. The show Will was putting on just for him.

Will pulled the knife out again, but this time he raised it to his lips, sticking his tongue out and touching the tip of the razor-sharp knife to his tongue.

Hannibal’s top lip twitched ever so slightly and he moved forward in his seat a fraction of an inch. Wishing he was closer. Wanting to touch. Begging for more even though he’d never do so out loud.

No one else would’ve noticed anything was wrong with the man. Almost everything about him was subtle unless one was attuned to his every move. His every breath. His every tilt of the head.

Will dragged the dull edge of the blade over the tip of his tongue before flicking it over his bottom lip.

Hannibal’s fingers twitched over the knife.

As Will ran the blade over his chin and back down to his neck, Hannibal took hold of his own knife’s hilt, his knuckles turning white immediately. Just a flick of the wrist and Will nicked his own neck, blood welling even as Hannibal’s breath caught in his chest.

He looked up at Will, mouth opening a little.

“It smells delicious,” Jack said, his commanding voice smashing apart all the tension in the room and drenching Hannibal in the ice cold water of the here and now.

“I hope you enjoy it,” Hannibal said, recovering nicely as Jack took a seat.

Will set his knife down on the table as Hannibal began carving the meat of a young man they’d met a few weeks earlier. He’d been rude one too many times and paid for his social blunder by becoming a lovely roast.

“Will, you have a little something,” Jack said, gesturing to his own neck, brow furrowed with concern. “Looks like blood.”

“Oh,” Will said, feigning surprise. “Excuse me. I cut myself shaving earlier, and it must’ve started bleeding again. I’ll be back in a moment.”

He left both men in the dining room, one completely oblivious to the other’s distress at having been dumped into a figurative bucket of ice and left too cool off way too soon when all he’d wanted to do was play.


	3. Deep Frying

> **deep frying \ ˈdēp-ˈfrī, ˈdēp-ˈfrī-iŋ \**  
>  _transitive verb_  
>  to completely submerge food in hot fat

“Will?”

Will tried to focus, but Jack’s voice was background noise. It was an irritation, but it paled in comparison to the heat that was surrounding him and burning him alive from the inside out.

“Are you okay?” Jack asked.

Will shook his head, waving Jack off and resettling himself in Jack’s chair, unable to look Jack in the eye as the man sat calmly, watching him from across the desk. “I’m fine,” he bit out.

Hannibal shifted in the chair next to him. A casual observer would assume Hannibal was annoyed by the ridiculous display, but Will knew better. Hannibal was loving every minute of it.

“So the, uhm,” Will said, sucking in a breath as the vibration started once more. “This killer. He, uhm, he. He didn’t fit. The profile.”

Jack squinted, leaning forward in his chair and visually dissecting Will’s every breath, his every move. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Will was drowning. He was burning and flying and crashing all at once, and Hannibal was the only one who knew why. The only one who controlled every bit of it.

“I’m fine!” Will snapped.

Taken aback, Jack blinked at Will once, twice. He gathered his composure. “Okay, you’re fine. Then why don’t you fill me in on why you think this killer doesn’t fit the profile.”

Jack was irritated. It was easy enough to tell from his voice, but it wasn’t Jack’s voice that gave it away to Will so much as the small shift of Hannibal’s foot. More like a twitch, to anyone who didn’t know him. Those who knew him intimately wouldn’t call it a twitch any more than one would call a panther’s steadying wiggle before launching itself at its prey a twitch.

“Huh.” Will couldn’t believe the noise came from him, but it did. It wasn’t a questioning hum or a thoughtful noise. It was punched out of him from deep inside his belly.

“I’m sorry?” Jack asked, grasping for clarification on the matter.

Will stood up so quickly that his cell phone, which he’d forgotten had been on his lap, was thrown against the front of Jack’s desk. “I need to use the restroom,” Will said, trying to modulate his voice unsuccessfully as the vibration in his ass became something impossible to ignore.

He didn’t wait for permission or acknowledgement from either man in the room. Didn’t stop to pick up his phone. He limped his way to the nearest bathroom, throwing the door open, the door banging back against the wall as he stumbled into a stall and pushed the stall door closed, sweaty fingers slipping on the too-cold metal of the locking mechanism.

“Fuck you, Hannibal,” Will growled to himself as he yanked his shirt out of his slacks and fumbled for the zipper. “Fuck you. Fuck you. You fucking-oh!”

The intensity of the vibration hit an all-time high, Hannibal likely changing it to the highest setting as he sauntered down the hallway, leaving Jack in his office, wondering what the fuck was wrong with his consultant, but figuring he’d be in good hands with Hannibal taking care of him.

He was mistaken. Jack was so wrong it wasn’t even funny. Hannibal was killing him. Tearing him apart from the inside out. As Will stroked himself, leaning against the stall wall for support, sucking in each breath like it was his last, Hannibal made his presence known.

“Fuck you,” Will hissed through clenched teeth.

“Language,” Hannibal said, voice as calm as ever, the fucker.

“Shit,” Will bit out as his knees started to give out. He leaned harder against the wall, sliding down to the floor.

“A person of dignity would never use obscene language,” Hannibal scolded.

Will’s orgasm took his breath away, and he thumped his head back against the stall door, gritting his teeth and squeezing his cock, watching his release hit the side of the bowl and the tile floor between his knees. Two more strokes pushed the last of it out the tip, dribbling to the floor.

“Better?” Hannibal asked, smug as ever.

The vibrations in Will’s ass had stopped, but he couldn’t remember when. He was grateful for the lack of continued stimulation. He took a cleansing breath, then another before pulling himself up and tucking himself away, fixing his clothing. One more cleansing breath and he unlocked the stall door and walked out of the stall, making his way to the sinks and washing his hands, ignoring Hannibal and the absurd, self-satisfied grin on the man’s face he didn’t need to see, but knew was there all the same.

“You’re cleaning it up,” Will said, shaking his wet hands off in the sink before strolling out of the restroom.


End file.
